 | The Elder Brother |  |
Prologue.
But that it would take from our modestyTo praise the Writer, or the Comedy,
Till your fair suffrage crown it, I should say,
Y'are all most welcome to no vulgar Play;
And so far w'are confident: And if he
That made it, still lives in your memorie,
You will expect what we present to night,
Should be judg'd worthy of your ears and sight.
You shall hear Fletcher in it, his true strain,
And neat expressions; living he did gain
Your good opinions; but now dead commends
This Orphan to the care of Noble Friends;
And may it raise in you content and mirth,
And be receiv'd for a legit'mate birth.
Your grace erects new Trophies to his fame,
And shall, to after-times, preserve his name.
| The Elder Brother | |